He had a big laugh. "Well, you _are_ a character!"

Captain Hagberd jerked himself free, and began to back away shrinkingly.
"For the present," he muttered, in a crestfallen tone.

"What's the matter with him?" The stranger addressed Bessie with the
utmost familiarity, in a deliberate, explanatory tone. "I didn't want
to startle the old man." He lowered his voice as though he had known
her for years. "I dropped into a barber's on my way, to get a twopenny
shave, and they told me there he was something of a character. The old
man has been a character all his life."

Captain Hagberd, daunted by the allusion to his clothing, had retreated
inside, taking his spade with him; and the two at the gate, startled
by the unexpected slamming of the door, heard the bolts being shot, the
snapping of the lock, and the echo of an affected gurgling laugh within.

"I didn't want to upset him," the man said, after a short silence.
"What's the meaning of all this? He isn't quite crazy."

"He has been worrying a long time about his lost son," said Bessie, in a
low, apologetic tone.

"Well, I am his son."

"Harry!" she cried--and was profoundly silent.

"Know my name? Friends with the old man, eh?"

"He's our landlord," Bessie faltered out, catching hold of the iron